"Mr. Moore, a lady called to inquire after you. None of the women were about. It is washing-day, and the maids are over the crown of the head in soap-suds in the back kitchen, so I asked her to step up."
"Up here, sir?"
"Up here, sir; but if you object, she shall go down again."
"Is this a place or am I a person to bring a lady to, you absurd lad?"
"No; so I'll take her off."
"Martin, you will stay here. Who is she?"
"Your grandmother from that château on the Scheldt Miss Moore talks about."
"Martin," said the softest whisper at the door, "don't be foolish."
"Is she there?" inquired Moore hastily. He had caught an imperfect sound.
"She is there, fit to faint. She is standing on the mat, shocked at your want of filial affection."